


Curiosities

by Helicon



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: (actually it isn't even implied. I'm giving it to you straight-up), (it's my headcanon and I'll cry if I want to), (to a slightly humorous extent), Biting, Choking, Clothed Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Light Angst, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Fixation, Possessive Behavior, Shapeshifting, Snark, Tentacles, Voice Mimicry, Wheelchair Sex, Xenophilia, implied Laurence/Gehrman, wild guessing on the speech ability of Great Ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 06:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10327403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helicon/pseuds/Helicon
Summary: The Moon Presence gets a little handsy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Eight Pages in Google Docs, Set to the Ambient Sounds of Helicon Screaming Into the Void
> 
> As it was with the last one, nightmaredaisy made me do it, but this time with help from whiteone and bellringerkat -- thank you for feeding my ego and making me take the last four days to write another one, you shameless little heathens. Take this, with all of my love, and some of my weird projected kinks. <3
> 
> (EDIT 3/17: Just realized there's another MP smut fic with the same title as this, that's... mildly embarrassing, I didn't even see that one 'til today. If you're reading this, sorry bud, I hope the content difference is enough because I couldn't come up with a different title other than making it plural or w/e. ;~;)
> 
> (I suppose it's the general consensus that MP is female, so I pronoun'd accordingly about a quarter of the way through and chalked it all up to POV as an explanation. @Fandom, don't kill me lol)

A typical nightmare was set as follows: a twisted vision of the past, the fishing hamlet, obscured by dream fog and downpour. The jellylike, limp corpse of a squid-looking Great One bearing a woman’s face: Kos, and the nails-on-chalkboard screech of the infant ripped from her body by hunters and scholars alike -- by Laurence and Gehrman themselves, and the men and women of Byrgenwerth so desperate and eager for truth and knowledge. While they all had been dragged dead (or alive, drunk on blood and gore) from the world of the waking into the same harrowing nightmare as one another, eternally trapped, Gehrman only found himself living it when he became too exhausted to evade sleep any longer. It was becoming more and more frequent now, as the Hunt went on, and nightmares of being torn from one reality into another had essentially _become_ reality.

 

This time, things were different. Tonight there were no long-since-deceased mutated fish men on a hunt of their own. There was no cry or violence of Kos’ wretched orphan, no vision of Maria -- blood soaking her with the rain, nigh-on glowing white in the moonlight, horror and retribution in her eyes, stunningly beautiful even as she tried to knock sense into him with her Rakuyo, then disappearing, merely a feverish hallucination of the past -- nothing. Nothing like that at all.

 

No drowned village, only the graveyard, the field of white lilies overlooked by the massive tree and columns in the distance. By this point, Gehrman was often aware when he was asleep and dreaming, and the change in setting came as a surprise that was perfectly alright until _it_ showed up. Even here, in a dream that wasn't quite a nightmare but too greatly resembled the Dream to be a good one, he was not free of the Moon Presence’s… presence. Surely nothing new with the grasp it had on him, but still unwelcome all the same.

 

Suddenly incapable of major movement, pinned to the ground on his back by the beastly Great One’s talons and tendrils, the old hunter thrashed and shouted -- or tried to shout, he might as well have been just breathing for all the good it did him in waking up -- and then tried to persuade himself into waking when all else failed. Though, despite the scene being all in his head, the pressure on his wrists and legs was alarmingly realistic, and the tentacle wrapping about his neck almost seemed just as much so. The Moon Presence’s head lowered toward him, and its body, changing and unstable the way things in dreams often were, took on a more humanoid appearance -- almost like it shrunk from its immense size to the vaguest shape of a large, skeletal, perhaps half-transformed human on all fours over him. Smaller, but equal in the nerves it set off simply by existing.

 

At the end of it all, Gehrman wasn't entirely sure what woke him up -- between the shrill ringing in his ears, the pain in his skull sure to quickly become a splitting headache, and the progressively higher realism in the feeling of being held down, it could have logically been any of the three.

 

The answer, an absolute certainty of ‘all of the above’, came when he finally opened his eyes only to be faced with the transformed Moon Presence from the dream, its face barely five inches away from his. The weight of it sitting on his legs and the strength in the clawed hands that pinned him prevented any kind of struggle, save for his startled jolt against the back of the wheelchair, enough to cause the both of them to nearly topple over backwards. The Great One’s tails whipped outward to steady them, and Gehrman could swear he’d heard it shush him.

 

“What do you _want?”_ he hissed, glancing at the doors -- closed, locked, and even if he could reach them now, what help would the Doll be? What a time it was for the new hunter to actually be out doing their job for once.

 

Usually, the Moon Presence was silent. Its incomprehensible gurgles and snarls were only understood by the Doll, who could respond normally and still carry out a conversation with it, and the Messengers -- knowing the language of the Great Ones -- acted as go-betweens when the Moon Presence had some choice words for its one consistent Hunter - and vice-versa. It never spoke. But it laughed, then. It laughed in a far-away voice that could never have belonged to it, because that was _Laurence’s_ laugh, and the hunter recognized it immediately despite all the years’ passing, despite the distortion the poor Vicar’s voice was going through the last they'd seen each other. An incredible multitude of voices resounded behind it, merging into one unnatural sound where Laurence was at the forefront, and when the Great One truly spoke, Laurence disappeared into the noise.

 

“I hardly meant to frighten you.” The Moon Presence’s voice had taken on a sickly sweet, feminine lilt. Was it female, or at least trying to convey femininity? Was there really a point in trying to determine the gender of a Great One? She. Whatever. It could be a she if it wanted. Gehrman raised a hand to the tendril still hanging around his neck, which she loosened fractionally, her sharp shoulders cocked in offense. “I was only trying to wake you up.”

 

“And you’re accomplishing… _what,_ from that?” He narrowed his eyes, tapping two fingers on the armrests where she still held his wrists. “Really, unless I need to go and free another hunter prematurely -- and I keep _telling_ you, that boy who keeps hiding from the Doll isn't going to make it…”

 

She laughed Laurence’s laugh again. It only got more and more unnerving each time, his voice coming from her mouthless face. “You had an odd reaction to punishment,” she said, flexing the tip of the tendril around Gehrman’s neck to caress the side of his face. He shuddered. “My Hunter.”

 

“That is _not_ yours to use and you _know_ _it.”_

 

“It is now.” Her grip tightened everywhere, the sweetness began to seep out of her voice. “Much like you are.”

 

“What do you want?” he repeated. “I haven't got the time for this--”

 

“Nonsense, you have all the time in the world.” The Moon Presence drew closer. “All the time that I give you.”

 

As her head tilted upwards, something hinged and sharp-looking -- a jaw, so she _did_ have a mouth, or at least some approximation of it at the moment -- poked out from beneath her chin. It dropped like a mouth opening; she yanked Gehrman’s coat and shirtcollar aside, and lunged for his shoulder, knocking the breath out of him on contact. Her teeth sunk in and stung like needles, her sharp tongue lapped at the skin as she tugged with lips that shouldn't have existed, bruising and bleeding, marking him physically.

 

When he finally regained himself, panting, vision blurry, the old hunter gasped, “You couldn’t ask first?!”

 

The Great One raised her head from him. “Consider this a formal request,” she said, then dove back in. Silence passed between the two, marred only by short breaths and the slick sound of tongue on flesh, until she broke it completely. “Well?” she demanded, in a voice that slowly grew accented with her agitation.

 

“Well what?”

 

“I want to see it again. No fear, no Doll… no surprises. This is not punishment, Gehrman, merely my own curiosity.”

 

“And you couldn't sate it on anybody else?” He cringed as she chuckled, and the vibrations rumbled against his chest and shoulder. “Stop that, or at least don't use that voice…”

 

Another pair of sleek and slippery tentacles wormed their way beneath the front of his pants. “We both know well that you would never stand for it if I did. Your little ‘me instead’ complex… what are you _really_ hiding?” she chided, moving her back legs to straddle his lap. “And besides…” She grinned her toothy grin. “You took me so well last time.”

 

Still, he strained against her hold, regarding her coldly from the corner of his eye and trying his best not to lean into the tentacles feeling freely about. Difficult, yes, but not so difficult that he couldn't manage it. “And if I don't this time?”

 

“You will, because I said so.” She said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that she would have him. “I promise you that it will be different.”

 

“If those words were coming from anyone else…”

 

“...you would accept them far more readily.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“If I were anyone else…” The Moon Presence’s voice grew disconnected, the many sources that formed hers fell out of sync with each other. So many echoes, far enough apart that Gehrman could pick them out and manage to place names to them if he listened close enough. Laurence, Maria, Micolash, Djura… Willem -- her intent considered, _that_ was a disturbing thought. She had to be pulling them out of his memories, or something of the like. “Why?” She reared up to face him, and the headache that he had been able to put aside made a rapid crescendo into unbearable territory. Anger. Fury. She was downright _pissed off._ “Do you not love me?”

 

If he answered, if he opened his mouth at all, he would heave right there and that would not help his case in the slightest. The room tilted when he opened his eyes, the glow of the fireplace became too much, her voices throbbed in his ears as they filled the whole place. She got off of him, stood on her hinds and took full advantage of his momentary incapacitation to flip him over, to have his arms and head dangling over the back of the wheelchair, knees in the seat, while she pressed herself against him.

 

“Answer me!” she screeched.

 

There was no arguing. Once he conceded, she would stop this. Whether he agreed with her, whether he did or did not love her, none of that mattered -- so long as she would _stop,_ do what she wanted, and then finally, maybe, leave him alone. Amidst an attempt to right himself without passing out or worse, he gave her a weak nod, a moan, enough for her to see and hear, but it still was not enough for her to accept.

 

“Do you or do you not?”

 

“Y-yes--”

 

“Yes you do?”

 

“Yes!”

 

And almost just like that, the pain stopped. Dizzy and already exhausted, Gehrman made to sit back down normally, but the Moon Presence would not budge. No surprise there. She had herself situated between his legs now, rubbing up against him like an affectionate cat, and something was beginning to press against the small of his back while the tentacle limbs down his pants opted to wrap around both legs, and the rest of their lengths pushed them down to his knees. One hand grasped his hip, the talons digging in hard enough to leave a mark. The other reached around to his face, brushing against his chin and inching upward; one, two long fingers in his mouth. He licked, sucked, bit until the length around his throat tightened in response, dragged his tongue against the undersides of the fingers trying to take a hold of it.

 

“Much, much better,” she purred. The dominant voice gave him pause -- low, gentle, soothing to listen to… _Ludwig?_ “Don't be so surprised,” was her whispered response. “I simply felt this one fit better for the… occasion.”

 

He drew back from her hand. “Any other options?”

 

“One, but only if you don't mind the Doll--”

 

“No! No, no, this is fine…”

 

“Let me finish,” she growled. Three fingers chased him back down to hook on the inside of his cheek. “I could give you what _you_ want, with her… or here with me, if you let me in a little further.” For emphasis, she punctuated her offer with short, shallow thrusts of her hips. The hunter jerked and gasped as something slim and wet prodded against him only to pull back with the Moon Presence’s body. “You know what I mean. I know you do.”

 

Her cold breath and implications made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. As the Great One nestled her head on the same shoulder she’d marked, Gehrman became aware of a small invasion of a personal space far more personal than the one she had been vying for earlier, and after the briefest of fights he finally relented. Having his mind rifled through like a stack of papers was nothing new at this point, but now the Moon Presence had access to so much more, and from the way her chest vibrated against his back with her subdued laughter, she was enjoying this freedom.

 

Her hips pressed into his again. “I've had a thought,” she said, and in her conglomerate of voices that she so shamelessly stole, one in particular began to rise to the front for much more than she must have intended at first. “Close your eyes. Hold on to me, do as you like; I promise this will be enjoyable…” At the end of the day he despised her, and it was no secret, but it was only all the more so as she removed her fingers from his mouth and held both hips steady to work her slippery length into him, whispering in that voice he worked so hard to keep a solid grasp on: _“My Hunter…”_

 

Though as useless as it was to try and keep a low and pleased moan shut up behind his teeth, he tried, and gave himself a decent amount of credit for also trying not to buck back onto her cock. “You've already got it wrong,” he breathed, reaching around back to place a palm on her backside, and keep her still for the time being. “Laurence never cared to give it.”

 

“Then let’s pretend, shall we?” asked the Moon Presence, voice unchanging now, pulling back and thrusting deeper, holding Gehrman still to keep him from the friction he’d started chasing after. “You sound like you like it well enough.”

 

“Oh, I never said I was _happy_ about the whole arrangement… he never budged on it. I loved him enough to dea-- _aah…”_ He trailed off into a whine. “Slower, damn you, do you expect me to take it all at once?!”

 

She pulled him in, closing the gap between them both, and giggled at the shout and subsequent disgruntled murmurs she’d elicited from him. What started out long and slow turned immediately to short, hard, rapid thrusts; his hand on her back grasped at the spiny bone as if he could slow her down. One upward motion had the hunter crying out and stiffening slightly without her touch, another led into more and more of the same, of Gehrman digging the fingers of his free hand into the back of the wheelchair, and the other hand into her spine, just short of screaming each time she hit something sensitive.

 

Giving him a moment to recompose himself, the Moon Presence stopped, still buried to the root but perfectly unmoving as she watched his back heave with uneven breaths. Several strong tentacles held him against her body as she stepped back, whirled around, and dropped herself into the wheelchair with Gehrman in her lap. “Take your time,” she whispered, loosely coiling the tentacle still busy about his neck a few more times. He relaxed in her arms, uncharacteristic of someone who’d just spent thirty seconds cursing her out, but still fine for her. Sharp teeth found his shoulder again, right above the dark purple spot she’d left before, and latched on just as she had to restrain his hand, which was drifting lazily -- but with purpose -- toward his own cock.

 

Shivering, twitching on hers, he turned alert once again and gave her a quiet growl, panting, “You… _heinous…_ bitch.”

 

“Careful, _who_ is the bitch here?” She pulled both arms behind his back and tightened the coils around his throat, yanked his head back, raised her head and bit his jaw. “The last that _I_ checked, _you_ were _mine.”_ Another few shallow thrusts, prompting more choked, trembling moans. Her voice began to level out, back to normal, a more tolerable equilibrium. “I think our situation here reflects our bitch statuses rather well, don't you?”

 

When he failed to respond, she loosened her grip, and allowed him to breathe again. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll see about that.”

 

“Will we?” The Moon Presence bucked her narrow hips up into Gehrman again, and again, keeping a firm hold on him even as he arched his back to have that contact once and then twice more. “Contrary to what you might think, no matter what, you are _mine_ and mine alone. I am the one in control here. Not you. Never you. I want you to acknowledge that. And…”

 

“...and?” Another thrust, another undulating shove of the slick alien cock buried inside him sent a jolt up his spine and a yowl out of his throat. The Great One must have waited patiently for the several moments it took him to come back down from the high, because once he was coherent and not gasping for breath between pleasured sobs, her mouth was right next to his ear.

 

Her voice dropped to a husky low that, too, was Laurence’s -- at this point she had to just be taunting him. “I want you to come for me.”

 

A quiet moment passed. Gehrman looked down, then to her, then back down again. “Looks like there’s a problem, then,” he said breathlessly, a hoarse chuckle barely audible between them. Common sense told him not to poke the bear, so to speak, but what else was a man who had agitated worse than bears as a livelihood _supposed_ to do? “You’ll have to actually _make_ me.”

 

The Moon Presence did not release him, as he’d hoped, albeit rather foolishly. Just when he thought she was going to do something about the issue at hand, she launched them both forward and facefirst onto the floor, snarling in his ear and pounding into him from a new angle. However, she was beginning to grow tired, and after a point she had to admit to herself that this was doing nothing for her. A compromise had to be made, if not for both their needs, then hers.

 

“I… have changed my mind,” she finally conceded. Rolling over onto her back and slipping out, she let her cock retract and granted Gehrman enough room to move, all the while nudging him into kneeling between her legs. “You may come after I do.” With that, she released his arms, impatiently tapping her tendrils on the floor.

 

Questions were the last thing on the old hunter’s mind as he set to finding exactly _where_ she wanted him. After all, he hadn't gotten a very good look at where she’d been taking him from, but he had some idea. He took his time feeling for some sort of opening in the flesh beneath her vast amount of ribs, baring his teeth in a grin as she leaned up and into his hands and taking that as an indication that if anything, he was getting closer. The view did astoundingly little to help his own arousal.

 

“Hurry it up, would you?” The Moon Presence finally snapped. “I'm deprived, here!”

 

“I doubt that's the word you are looking for,” he muttered, letting her guide his hand to a long, dripping slit right beneath her tail. “Change a letter somewhere in there, maybe…”

 

“...Clever.”

 

One finger, then two inside her, curling and pressing against her inner walls made her jerk her hips in the same directions, throw her head back, the mane of pinkish-red tentacles splaying out behind it. As Gehrman withdrew his hand for another round, something about the width of both his fingers followed, but he quickly pushed it back in with a sly smirk in the Great One’s direction.

 

Much to her chagrin, he stopped all of a sudden, and changed position to lie down beside her. “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded to know. His hand clamped over her mouth in what she realized was an act of reversal -- and she knew that he knew she was going to let him do it. Growling behind it, but all the while rolling over onto her side and hooking one long leg over his waist, she grabbed his free hand and got him back to fingering her from the front.

 

She would never be reduced to whimpering, much less as she approached climax, but it came faster than she could have foreseen -- and for that matter, so did she. Clenching hard around the hunter’s fingers, she cried out, louder and louder as he only continued. When he pulled them out for the final time, she made to stand, though in an instant they were inside her mouth and forcing her to taste herself as Gehrman moved her tails out of the way and hoisted her hips up to be better aligned.

 

“You’ve forgotten something,” he whispered, nearly bottoming out on the first thrust. It was a tight fit, and he was fairly slim in every sense of the word in its application to the body, but the warmth of her all but made up for it. Reveling in the moans he’d brought out of her, the sharp tongue lapping at his fingers and the constricting heat of her core, he grabbed her hip for leverage and took her roughly, pulling out to the tip and slamming right back inside as hard as he could without protest from his joints. All that it _could_ take him to not overdo it in frustration -- frustration with his situation, with _her,_ with everything today and for Gods knew how long it was that he'd been trapped here -- it did. All that it could take him to think of somebody else, _anybody else…_

 

Laurence had been a bit of a biter, he remembered as the Moon Presence’s teeth scraped his skin. The time he had still called Gehrman to bed despite a fever, before the Blood, before this, he’d been running much too hot but it helped him to sleep… _gentle with him, gentle, don't you dare hurt him_

 

Even slowing down so drastically, lost in that fantasy of the past, it was all over within moments.

 

“ _L-Laurence--!”_ he gasped out, clutching in desperation at the newly-amused Moon Presence while taking her as deeply as he could, immobilized and restricted to collapsing on top of her by the sheer outcome of the buildup she’d put him through.

  
She threaded her talons through his hair, chuckling the Vicar’s soft and knowing chuckle.


End file.
